


You and I

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Featuring: a cocky, entertaining Blaise; a rather manky tavern; a seductive waitress; a mysterious yet alluring singer with a secret identity; and... Draco Malfoy, in a fedora. Cue swoon. MATURE CONTENT</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the lyrics, or Harry Potter for that matter. Everything but plot belongs to JK Rowling and Lady Gaga

**You and I**

The lighting was dim, lanterns and low lights casting a warm, suffocating glow on the room. Many people were smoking on pipes and cigars, tendrils of grey curling around the heads of the patrons and up the walls towards the ceiling. The air smelled of smoke and alcohol and an altogether dirtiness, and cigarette butts and peanut-shells lined the dusty, red-tiled floor. It was a real hole-in-the-wall, with its cheap, raunchy, American posters hanging on the walls and the cracks and holes in the floor, but it was cozy and warm and had a sense of forbidden-ness that had shots of adrenaline pumping through Draco's veins.

He walked in from the winter night, accompanied by Blaise, with his coat buttoned up to his chin and a grey fedora just covering his ears. His hands had been plunged into deep pockets once he realized his half-fingered gloves wouldn't be enough to ward off the cold outisde, and his loafers clacked softly against the floor.

His companion sneered with disgust as he took in their surroundings. "You're so full of shit, Draco," Blaise said, glancing at a red-headed waitress—the only one making rounds about the tables—whose cleavage was hanging blatantly out of a too-small black v-neck. She was striding confidently in black wedges that were _at least_ four inches tall among the patrons, deftly balancing a grimy grey-brown tray in one hand. "I don't know why I agreed to come here with you. Why couldn't we have come somewhere else? I would have even gone to the Three Broomsticks, instead of this fucking _muggle_ place."

Draco waved off his friend's distaste. "If muggles know one thing, it's how to make a man feel at home. I mean, look at the obvious camaraderie and shared drinks! Come on, Blaise. Let's find a table."

The Italian grunted noncommittally and followed his friend as the blonde navigated through the tables thick with men and beers until he finally found one towards the stage situated at the front of the room. The blonde leaned back on his chair, pulling off the fedora and placing it on the table, and then mashing his hands back in his pocket. Blaise, still stiff as a board, sat rigidly on his own seat while untying his scarf and unfastening the first few buttons on his coat.

The waitress they had spotted earlier sauntered towards them, smiling seductively, her lips painted bright red and her eyelashes supernaturally long. She slapped a hand down on their table and leaned forward, her breasts nearly falling out of that tiny black shirt. Draco smirked as he noticed Blaise gazing lustily towards them.

"What can I do for ya, gents?" she inquired, a curious twang spiraling around an otherwise soft and sweet voice.

"Two beers for my friend and I," Draco said, grinning charmingly at the young woman.

"'That'll be all?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I'll be back then," she said with a wink, then walked off, tray in hand.

Draco leaned back again, a cocky smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Admit it, Blaise, you're glad I brought you here now. In fact, I would go so far as to say that both you and your, ahem, _extended self_ are nothing less than _ecstatic._ "

The Italian shook his head. "You can be a real prick, Draco," he said, narrowing his eyes, and the blonde laughed.

The pair didn't have to wait very long for the redhead to return, balancing a full tray and for the first time looking a little harried.

"There you are, sirs," she said as she set the two beers on the table, abandoning her seductive demeanor. "Enjoy."

Blaise reached up to place a hand on her forearm in a placating and simultaneously alluring way, his eyebrows shooting up suggestively. "What's wrong, my dear?" he asked, "You look positively _flushed_."

Draco fought back a laugh. Only Blaise could make something so sincere sound so… _naughty_.

The waitress smiled lightly. "The regulars—they're all waiting for the ten-o'clock show. Our usual singer is running a little late and they're getting a bit impatient. But she should be starting soon. You two are in for a treat." She smiled again and pulled away, resuming her work of picking up dirty glasses and setting down the slightly cleaner, full ones.

Upon catching his friend's slightly disappointed look, Draco smirked. "I assure you, Blaise, she really did look smitten."

"You think so, Draco?" the other man said with mock-hopefulness. "I am ever-so-relieved to have your reassurance," to which the former Slytherin snickered.

Just then, the dim lights around the tavern dimmed even further, while the spotlights over the stage brightened and focused on the small platform. A young man, with black slicked-back hair and gaunt features, was seated at an ancient grand piano with chipped keys. He wore thin, rectangular spectacles and a ratty dress shirt with black trousers.

A great amount whooping and cheering filled with room, and Draco took this to be the beginning of the show the waitress had been talking about.

The man began playing a smooth, jazzy piece, sticking mostly with the middle and lower keys. Draco knew that this was just an intro to the real song and was impatient to hear it, even though the man was playing wonderfully. He wouldn't have been surprised if it were all improv.

An elderly emcee with greying hair emerged from the side of the stage, wearing a fitted suit that was strangely clean in this otherwise dirty environment. Carrying a… _what were they called…_ microphone—yes, that was it!—in one hand, he spoke into it, "Now presenting… the lovely Austen Faera!" He receded back behind the curtains.

Then, one toned, smooth, _bare_ leg emerged from the side of the stage, along with a gorgeous foot shod in a dark red stiletto. There was much hooting and catcalling, and even Draco himself found himself transfixed. The rest of the woman emerged. She was wearing a bright red evening dress, a band of maroon going around it underneath her breasts and with two straps coming together behind her neck to hold the garment in place. There was a slit in the dress that ambled up her thigh—hence the bare leg moments before—and the neckline was v-shaped and plunging, cutting both breasts in two, one half covered by red fabric and the other exposed to the warm air of the room. She was diminutive in stature, despite the heels, and had small hips, an even smaller waist, and long legs compared to her torso.

Her face was young and beautiful, her skin a deep bronze hue and her doe-eyes a vivid golden-brown. Her cinnamon-colored hair fell down her back and over her shoulders in a lazy, care-free sort of way. Her nose was straight and small, and her lips, pouty and full, painted an intense shade of red, not unlike the waitress's. She was gorgeous and sexy and hypnotizing, all at once—Draco couldn't remember ever seeing a woman so appealing.

And somehow, he managed to forget everything about her looks when she opened her mouth and started to sing.

Miss Faera's voice was indeed lovely, and rich and creamy as well, like hot, melted chocolate you just wanted to bathe your mouth in. It was powered by an incredible sort of electricity that flowed over the room and entranced every ear it entered. It was a voice Draco wanted to hear every day for the rest of his life. He could understand why the patrons had been so impatient when she was late, if this is what all of her shows were like.

" _It's been a long time since I came around  
_ _Been a long time but I'm back in town  
_ _This time I'm not leaving without you  
_ _You taste like whiskey when you kiss me, oh  
_ _I'll give anything again to be your baby doll  
_ _This time I'm not leaving with you."_

Finally the lyrics began to make their way to Draco's consciousness, and the words, along with her luscious voice and appetizing features suddenly made the temperature rise by 20 degrees.

"That is one _fit_ bird," he vaguely heard Blaise breathe beside him, and he numbly nodded in agreement.

" _He says 'Sit back down where you belong  
_ _In the corner of my bar with your high heels on  
_ _Sit back down on the couch where we  
_ _made love the first time  
_ _And you said to me—"_

 _Mmmmm,_ Draco thought, wetting his lips. _I wonder what it would be like to make love to this woman… those red lips look positively delectable._ She walked over towards the piano, leaning on it, the song rolling from her mouth in lovely waves of sound. Then she turned to the pianist, laying her elbows on the top, her cleavage no doubt spilling out over the wood and into the black-haired man's perfect line of sight. Despite this, the man still did not look up from the keys, and Draco wanted to smack him.

 _Don't you know what you're giving up, man?_ he thought to the pianist angrily. _What a view…_

"'" _Something, something about this place  
_ _Something 'bout lonely nights  
_ _And my lipstick on your face  
_ _Something, something about m_ _y cool Nebraska guy  
_ _There's something about  
_ _Baby you and I"'"_

She leaned switched positions again, so her back was to the piano and and she was laying backward over it, spine arched and eyelids drooping in a highly erotic fashion.

"Mate, I think I've just discovered a whole new meaning of the word 'hard-on'," Blaise whispered, and Draco snickered softly. He could relate.

As she stood, another round of catcalls and whistling made its way around the tavern. Draco watched her carefully now, observing everything he could about her. Her eye lids were heavily coated in copper eye shadow, making every blink more dramatic, even jaw-dropping. Her lips seemed more like dyed than painted, and her hair almost seemed stiff to him now, as if it was supposed to be curly.

" _It's been two years since I let you go  
_ _I couldn't listened to a joke  
_ _Or a-rock and roll  
_ _Muscle cars drove a truck right through my heart._

_On my birthday you sang me 'A Heart of Gold'  
_ _With your guitar humming and no ca-lothes  
_ _This time I'm not leaving without you  
_ _Woah woah!"_

She glided her way over to the pianist, sliding onto the bench and playing a few chords on the treble clef.

"Multi-talented, I see. I wonder what else she can do with those lovely fingers of hers," Blaise quipped, smirking suggestively.

His friend's words set a fire going somewhere near Draco's middle, and an image flashed in his mind. Her slender digits, running down his back, across his chest, curling around his shoulders while she moaned his name…

" _We got a whole lott'a money but we still pay rent  
_ _'Cause you can't buy a house in heaven  
_ _There's only three men that I'ma serve my whole life  
_ _That's my Daddy and Nebraska and Jesus Christ."_

She pushed herself off the piano bench, body rippling lethargically while she did so, as if it took her an incredible amount of effort just to stand. She slowly stepped off the stage, swaggering through the tables, still singing. Draco stared intently towards her, curious as to where she was headed.

 _To me,_ he realized as he met her sultry gaze. She strutted to him, hips swaying, still singing.

" _Something, something about the chase  
_ _(six whole years)  
_ _I'm a New York woman born to run you down  
_ _So have my lipstick all over your face  
_ _Something, something about just knowing when it's right—"_

And then, suddenly, she was sitting on him, straddling his lap, no doubt feeling his growing erection from underneath his pants. Maybe that was why she was grinning so widely as she sang. Draco felt his face flush. She was looking _right into his eyes_ , making the burning in his center grow hotter and hotter.

Her breath was hot and sweet and sharp, like honey mixed with mint, and her beautiful face was close—oh-so-very-close—that Draco found himself having trouble drawing breath. His gaze fixating on her lips, and now he was certain that they were dyed, not painted. He only needed to move forward a few inches, and he would be kissing her. She reached up with one hand to bury her fingers into his hair—he hadn't even _thought_ about this scenario, but Merlin, it felt unbelievable—and continued to belt out—

" _So put your drinks up, for Nebraska,  
_ _For Nebraska, Nebraska, I love you!  
_ _You and I!"_

And suddenly, she was gone, her warmth no longer on his lap and now climbing back onto the stage. He heard Blaise chuckle beside him. "You are one lucky bastard, Draco," his friend commented. "I bet every bloke in this room wants to kill you now."

"Including you?"

"Perhaps," the other man replied, and the corner of his lips twitched.

She was now finishing, the last words of the song falling from her mouth and resonating around the tavern,

" _It's been a long time since I came around  
_ _Been a long time, but I'm back in town,  
_ _and this time, I'm not leaving without you."_

The final notes droned out from underneath the pianist's fingers and the singer lowered her head as the lights dimmed again. The tavern burst into thunderous applause, and suddenly Draco was clapping too, not even aware he was doing it for a few moments.

"I think you're in love, mate," Blaise snickered.

"Oh, shut up, Blaise," Draco said, still clapping. "No one cares what you think."

Eventually the lights came back on, and as they did, he noticed the black-haired pianist and the mysterious singer named Austen Faera had disappeared from the stage. Draco looked down at his untouched beer.

"I think it's time we take our leave, Draco," Blaise said, standing up. "I do admit, that was quite entertaining, but it's getting a bit late now—"

"You can go," Draco said. "I think I'll stay for a little while longer."

"Thinking of pursuing that Faera woman?" his friend inquired knowingly.

"Perhaps," the blonde replied, smirking as he echoed his friend's words.

"Alright, Draco," Blaise said, smiling and shaking his head. "Good luck to you, mate."

"Thanks," he replied dryly.

And so the Italian, buttoning his coat and pulling on his scarf, stepped away from the table and saluted smartly towards his friend. "I'll see you later, then," he said.

"'Bye," Draco said absent-mindedly, running a finger around the rim of his glass.

As Blaise walked out the door of the tavern, Draco stood, placing his fedora back on his head and scanning the loud room for the one waitress—she seemed to be the only one who knew anything here. She wasn't hard to find—her red hair made her quite noticeable.

"Excuse me," he said politely as he approached her. She was picking up glasses from an empty table and setting them on her tray, looking very focused on her work.

She glanced up at him. "Yes?" she said, recognition flitting across her eyes.

"Would you happen to know where I could find Miss Faera?"

The girl laughed. "You were the 'lucky one' tonight, weren't you?"

Draco stared at her, open-mouthed.

She laughed again. "They always ask for her, and they never get anywhere. Or maybe it's that they don't want to anymore." Her eyes sparkled, as if she were sharing a joke with herself. The redhead seemed to be sizing him up now. "But maybe I'm being pessimistic. You look like a decent bloke. Not a bad looker, either," she added, winking.

"Thanks. Now where…"

"Oh, sure. There's a black door to the right of the stage. Take that and it leads you into a hallway. Her dressing room is the second door on your left, right after the toilets. Good luck," she winked again, and turned around to her next table.

Draco followed her instructions, finding the black door and opening it slowly, cringing at the loud croak the hinges produced. He stepped quietly past the door and into the hallway, which was even grimier than the tavern, and much colder. He tip-toed down the short passageway until he reached the second door.

He raised his hand to knock and hesitated for a moment before hitting his knuckles against the wood of the door.

"Just a second," said the voice inside. _Yes, it definitely was her._ Just hearing her voice again was making him stiffer.

Draco waited impatiently for a few moments before the door was roughly pulled open, and a woman poked her head out.

She was undoubtedly Austen Faera—the same small, straight nose, brown doe eyes, and cinnamon hair. Only, her skin was now pallid—almost milk-white instead of bronze, her lips a dull peach instead of bright red, and her eyelids no longer coated with the copper eye shadow. Her hair was wildly curly, too, and only reached down to just past her shoulders instead of cascading down her back and shoulders as it had before. She was nowhere near as striking as she had been, and Draco instantly felt cheated and betrayed. He understood the redheaded waitress's little joke now.

He was just about to leave her completely when a spark of recognition burst in his mind, and he made a double-take. That curly hair… the wide, brown doe-eyes…

"It was _you?_ " they both exclaimed at the same time and Draco realized that his whole thought-process had all taken place in less than a few moments.

"Granger," he half growled, half breathed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing, Malfoy," the brunette hissed. She poked her head out further, for some reason checking that no one was watching them, then pulled him into the dressing room by the lapel of his jacket.

The room was cleaner than the tavern, _a lot_ cleaner than the hallway, and much warmer, too. There was a mirror lining one wall with a counter underneath, a swivel sort of chair to go with it, and a couch pushed against the opposite one.

"Sit down over there," Granger said, gesturing to the couch before closing the door behind her and collapsing into the swivel chair. Draco complied, leaning back on the settee and tipping his fedora over his eyes.

"Now tell me, what are you doing here?"

"I asked you first, Granger," Draco said stubbornly. "And what's with all the… make-up?"

"It wasn't make-up, you dolt," she replied haughtily. "They're spells. Make-up would take too long to get off."

"Oh, so did you magic your voice, too?" he asked disgustedly, though the disgust was aimed more at himself for believing all her bullshit. "I thought Gryffindors were all honest and noble and shit."

She sneered. "The only charm I put on my voice was _sonorous_ , so I didn't have to carry a troublesome mic." _Short for microphone,_ Draco remembered. "I really _can_ sing, believe it or not. But I'm glad you think so highly of me, Malfoy."

He grunted. "Alright, so you answered my second question—"

"I'm only here once a week," she interrupted exasperatedly. "It's just a little part-time job. Something to keep me entertained."

"Or, rather, entertain other people. Namely, men," Draco said cheekily. "You know, I left Hogwarts six years ago thinking you were just a frigid Gryffindor prude, and here I see you—"

"You're one to talk, Malfoy," the brunette snapped. "I'm not an idiot. I'm pretty sure that wasn't a roll of sickles in your pocket, pervert."

"I assure you, Granger, it's more like _galleons_ , and your one to talk, with all your creeping and ogling and acting and whatnot."

"You're so full of shit," she said scathingly.

"Funny—Blaise said the same thing to me when we first walked in."

"Zabini's here?" the brunette cried, distracted by his comment.

"He _was_. I sent him away."

"You're not going to tell him anything, are you?"

Obviously, the idea distressed her, and Draco couldn't help but grin. "What a capital idea, Granger. I hadn't even thought of that myself."

"You can't tell anyone about this, Malfoy. I'm dead serious; you've got to keep that big mouth of your shut for once."

"You know, the steadily growing pile of insults you've thrown at me tonight isn't exactly helping your case."

She sighed. "You truly are an idiot."

"At least _I'm_ attractive, unlike—" he cleared his throat and gestured to her.

"You're such a liar," she half-shouted, tone suddenly sharp. "I'm still not an idiot—you're still looking at me funny, even though I've removed all the spells."

Had he? Maybe he had. Her eyes _were_ still very pretty, and her slender fingers were tapping on her knees, and her lips were still full and slightly pouty and oh-so-kissable— _snap out of it Draco! This isn't Austen Faera anymore—this is Hermione Granger, Mudblood-Extraordinaire_. _With a seriously kick-ass voice and tiny, completely fuckable body,_ he found himself adding, and then he wanted to slap himself.

"Stop it," she snapped—so he was staring again. "Don't you try anything, Malfoy. I swear to you, I will curse your pale little ass off."

"How would you know what color my ass is?" he drawled, smirking again. "Have you ever snuck into the Slytherin showers after a Quidditch game? Ooh, how scandalous. Tell me, who had the bigger dick—Crabbe or Goyle?"

Her face flushed red. "I've never done anything like that in my life!"

"Yet here you are, commenting on the color of my arse, wearing stilettoes and a dress that leaves little to the imagination, not to mention seducing random men in a rather manky tavern on a Friday night."

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

"Got you there, Granger," he said, pointing at her with both index fingers and grinning wickedly.

"You still haven't answered _my_ question, Malfoy," she quickly. "What were _you_ doing here, and with Zabini?"

"It's Friday night." Draco shrugged. "We,"— _I—_ "wanted to, ahem, mix it up a bit. Do something bizarre."

"You consider this bizzare?" she asked incredulously, and he glared at her from underneath the brim of his fedora.

"We're wealthy, high-class, pure-blood, aristocrats, Granger. Anything that doesn't involve magic is considered 'bizarre' to us."

"Right," she said, and bit her lip, teasing at it with her teeth.

Suddenly, that fire was back, raging as strong as ever right beneath his stomach. It was a needy little flame, begging him to just _do_ it. He began to imagine his own teeth biting down on her lip as her legs wrapped around his hips and his fingers traced lines on her thighs, which would be bare and soft and warm by then. He pressed his own thighs together, feeling his length stiffen again between them, and he wet his lips. He looked up at her, his eyes no doubt dark with lust. Fucking her, even just for fun, didn't seem like such a bad idea any more…

"Malfoy…" she said warningly, but he ignored her and stood up, making his way towards her swivel and looming over her, a hand at each of the armrests. _Might as well,_ he thought. _What have you got to lose?_

"You know, Granger, I really despise rapists," he whispered huskily, voice low. "They have no cleverness, tact, or charm at all. So I think it would be best for both of us if you just… allowed me to have my way with you." He grinned roguishly.

"You wouldn't really rape me if I didn't comply, would you, Malfoy?" she said, but her tone suggested she didn't really expect him to say 'yes'.

"Perhaps," he answered vaguely before diving for her lips. God, they tasted sweet. Almost as sweet as her breath had been…

It took a few seconds, but she reacted, pulling up closer by his neck with one hand and throwing his fedora to the floor with the other.

"Such a stupid hat…" she murmured against his lips as her fingers made their way into his hair again. He'd forgotten how much he loved it when women played with his hair, and nearly shivered with delight, overlooking instantly the insult she'd made to his fashion choice.

"You know, Granger, this isn't really the most comfortable position for me…" He deftly stood up and pulled her from the chair, dragging her off and pushing her front-first up against the wall opposite the door. He pressed himself into her while lightly biting at the skin where her neck met her shoulder.

She moaned beneath him, and it sounded even better than he'd imagined it. "You _naughty_ little Gryffindor," he mocked her, breath whispering along her skin. "To think you were so reluctant just minutes before. You sound like you've been waiting all night for this. Pray tell, Granger, how long does it take to get a goody-goody Gryffindor girl wet?"

He could tell she was grinning. "It depends how horny she is," she replied coolly, not missing a beat, and just that word, _horny,_ coming out of her mouth set his insides ablaze again.

"Hold your arms up," he whispered, and she complied. He slowly pulled the red dress over her.

"No bra, Granger?" Draco snickered as he threw the garment to the floor.

"This dress doesn't exactly allow for one," she said witheringly.

"But obviously panties were a must," he said, staring intently at her round ass. It was covered by a simple pair of yellow underwear that rode low on her hips. To his surprise, she leaned her forearms against the wall and arched her back, pointing her arse right at him.

"Better, Malfoy?" she said coyly.

"Yes, thank you, Granger," he replied smoothly.

He knelt down and took her left thigh in both hands, nuzzling his nose against the soft flesh there and inhaling her scent—sweet, but twisted, like sour strawberries. His tongue flicked out to taste her skin and she gasped. Chuckling, he licked across the flesh just underneath her panties, and a shaky sigh stuttered from between her lips.

Draco experimentally raised one hand to her crotch, squeezing lightly. Happily, he watched as her knees nearly buckled and she took another sharpish breath. Her panties were damp, but not soaked yet, and he was disappointed.

"You're not nearly wet enough, Granger dear," he murmured, lips brushing her thighs as he spoke. "We'll have to fix that." Swiftly, he bit down on her flesh, causing her spine to arch and a groan to slide thought her lips. He swirled his tongue along the bite-marks, soothing the now-red-skin directly beneath her ass-cheek.

His mouth skated up her ass over her panties and continued upwards until it landed in the area between her shoulder blades. "You taste so damn sweet," he told her as he kissed the nape of her neck. "Delectable, my dear _New York_ , just delectable." He laughed, at his own little joke. The lyrics of the song flashed in his mind: _"I'm a New York woman born to run you down, so have my lipstick all over your face."_

 _What an_ erogenous _thought,_ Draco mused. _If only she'd used real lipstick instead of a spell…_ He bit down her ear as his hands groped at her naked chest. Her tits were beautiful—warm and soft, small but not too small, and her nipples were deliciously stiff.

After a short tug on her earlobe with his teeth, he deftly flipped her around so she was facing him. He quickly took one of her nipples into his mouth, tongue spinning around them while his fingers slid up and down her ribs. Her hands reached down to pull his head closer to her, and little mewls slipped from her lips.

He slid his fingers into her panties and felt around, checking to make sure they were sufficiently wet.

"I've got you dripping now, Granger," he chortled. "Your cunt is practically begging to get fucked."

"Then fuck it, Malfoy," she demanded, hips bucking towards his fingers. "Use your mouth or your fingers or your dick or whatever, just _do it quick before I implode._ "

Draco rubbed his nimble digits against her entrance, getting them properly soaked while he kissed her hard. She groaned, the vibrations making his stomach do flips inside him.

"You know what would be really erotic right now?"

"Fucking me?"

He laughed. "No, but good guess." He pulled his fingers from her panties. "If you sucked my fingers off." They were glistening with her juices and Draco found it entertaining at how hungrily she stared at them before taking them into her mouth.

Her tongue whirled around his fingers inside her mouth, and when she pulled away a rope of saliva mixed with her cunt-juices connected her lips and his fingers. They both stared, transfixed by the sight, until she bent forward and licked it up. She proceeded to draw her tongue across each finger, licking them clean slowly and languidly—taking her damn time.

"There," Granger said, drawing away. "Now you fuck me."

Draco laughed at her brazenness. "Now I fuck you."

She grinned pushed him back towards the sofa, pulling at his clothes as she went, throwing them to the floor until he was completely naked except for his now-tented boxers.

Then she pushed him length-wise into the couch, straddling his hips, her ass leaning against his erection. Playfully, he bucked forward, causing her to squeal a bit and grip on the back of the couch for balance.

She drew her fingers across the muscles in his chest, eyes wide with fascination. They were blazing hot against the tight skin stretched over his pectorals—like burning coals.

" _My cool Nebraska guy_ ," she giggled, and Draco realized that if her touch was scorching to him, then he must be freezing to her. The notion intrigued him. "And here I thought you were a Londoner."

"Wiltshire, actually. And I was thinking the same of you, _New York_ ," he replied with an easy grin.

Teasingly, she rocked forward on top of him a few times, brushing his dick ever-so-slightly on each down stroke. "How does that feel, Nebraska?" she said breathlessly, lids drooping, hands pressing on his chest, back arched. "Is your fat cock hard and ready for my cunt?"

"You're a fucking tease," he hissed through his teeth, grabbing onto her hips. "Come on, New York, you wanted this, right?"

"I'm just taking my time," she shrugged, sliding her hands over his chest. "Patience is a wonderful virtue."

He rolled his eyes. Figures a Gryffindor would preach about _virtues_ while she had sex.

Granger sat up, struggling to pull her panties off while still keeping her knees on either side of him.

"Need a hand there?"

"Shut up, Nebraska," she said, balling up the underwear and throwing it towards his face. He easily caught it, pressing it against his nose and breathing in her scent, before tossing it to the pile of his clothes that had collected. Then he turned his attention onto more important matters. Her pussy, for example.

It was gorgeous, of course, bright pink and soaked, covered in a sparse layer of fine cinnamon hair.

"Like what you see?" She grinned.

"Like may not be a strong enough word," he answered truthfully.

She slid down towards his legs, taking his boxers along with her, under she managed to slip them off and tossed them into the heap.

"We're putting together quite a pile, aren't we?" Draco said, eyebrow rising teasingly.

Instead of answering, she leaned down, placing her lips close to his ear so when she talked, her hot breath poured over his skin. "What would you say if I told you I secretly relish being controlled?" Draco smiled wickedly, and she continued. "It fucking _turns. Me. On_ ," breathed, and she sounded nearly drunk, and she buried her hand into his hair.

"Then you know what I have to do now," Draco whispered to her.

"What?"

"This." He rolled them over, so she was underneath him, and she laughed out loud. Her laugh was cut short, though, as he lowered his lips to her cleavage, surrounding himself with her lovely scent. She gasped, arching her back, pressing her front into him.

"I'm not going to go easy against you, New York," he murmured softly as he slowly pulled his mouth down the length of her stomach. "I'm going to pound my cock into your tight little cunt until you can hardly walk straight anymore. I'm going to fuck you until you're fucking begging for mercy. I'm going to make you scream, New York."

"I'm waiting, Nebraska," she replied impatiently. "My cunt is yours."

Her words were like gasoline being thrown into the already blazing inferno burning near his groin, spurning him on. Without hesitation, he roughly entered her, enjoying her cry of pain and pleasure.

"Not so cocky now, are we?" Draco hissed as he pushed in and out of her, feeling her body tremble beneath him. "You're a fucking tease, and teases always get what they have coming for them. Who the fuck do you belong to?"

"You!" she screamed. "My pussy is yours. God, fuck me _harder_. I want every fucking inch of you inside me."

Faster, he thrust into her, picking up a hasty rhythm that she quickly caught on to, matching him stroke for stroke. Draco could feel his orgasm building, could feel the tension in his balls as they prepared for his climax.

"When I leave tonight," he whispered, "and you're still _starving_ for my dick, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to… to touch myself," she panted, eyes squeezed shut with ecstasy. "I'm going rub m-my fingers… all over my wet pussy a-and pretend it's y-your cock. I'm going to hump my whole fucking hand and pretend it's you pounding into me."

"And what will you do when you cum?" he demanded.

"Scream your motherfucking name!" she shouted, her voice hoarse and high-pitched as she came. He released inside her seconds later, shivering with pleasure.

Draco collapsed onto her, just landing on his elbows so as to not completely crush her. The blonde's breath came in quick pants, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin everywhere. He rested his head in the crook of her neck and she reached up to tenderly stroke his hair.

"That was bloody brilliant," he said.

Suddenly, she laughed underneath him, and his head shot up in alarm.

"You're _still_ cold," she said. "I guess they weren't kidding when they called you the Slytherin Ice Prince."

He laughed too. "Nebraska, remember."

And then she was singing, loud and heavy as if she were drunk, and he was mesmerized, once again, by her velvety voice.

" _So put your drinks up…  
_ _for Nebraska, Nebraska I love you!  
_ _You and I!"_


End file.
